


Never

by quartetship



Series: Number Seven [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Breaking Up & Making Up, Cheerleader!Jean, Explicit Sexual Content, High School, Jock!Marco, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:04:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6899731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And miss a chance to sleep with you, rather than your clothes? <i>Never</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never

**Author's Note:**

> This is part four of my Number Seven series, an ongoing story about cheerleader!Jean & football player!Marco, high school sweethearts. Three more installments to go after this one!
> 
> (Originally posted about a year ago now to tumblr!)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> \--

Competition had always been Jean’s favorite part of cheering.

At competitions, there were no heckling sports fans. No guys from the halls of his high school there to throw him strange looks for cheering, to shout things that made him grit his teeth while offering a spiteful stage smile in return. There were only people cheering right back in the stands, other cheerleaders from other schools, and genuine, boisterous applause. And Jean _loved_ applause.

It was the thing he chased at football and basketball games, the sound that drowned out his every insecurity. Even when he was very young, he'd known how to work a crowd, how to pull as much love from them as they could offer up and more. There was something intoxicating about being the center of attention. Maybe it was because he'd had so little from his parents. Maybe it was because the year he put the school colors on for the first time, he went from an unknown student to the peak of popularity. The vest had done a lot for him, but his favorite perk of being cheer captain had nothing to do with everyone’s eyes being on him. It was that he’d caught the eyes of a single person, a particular person. _His_ person.

Marco’s attention was his favorite, and he drank it up like sweet liquor. It was easy to get drunk on the way Marco stared at him, smiled at him, _loved_ him. So when Marco agreed to come to a competition – just for Jean, to see him completely in his element – it felt like the most _boyfriend_ thing he'd ever done for Jean. His own _mother_ never even bothered to attend shows, but Marco was making time to. He’d promised to lavish him with plenty of attention in return, to which Marco had grinned in response and promised to behave, at _least_ until Jean was free to sit with him. Jean woke up smiling that morning, ready to perform for the crowd. Ready to perform for _Marco_.

That was the only thing on his mind as he stretched, warming up with the others before they were set to perform. It was hard to focus on much else, and Jean wished he could just spend the entire day beside his boyfriend, rather than surrounded by female friends in curls and bows. But it wouldn't be long; he fussed with his hair and smoothed out the wrinkles of his best before dropping to the floor to warm up.

“Smile!” Krista stood a few feet away, already dressed and ready, poking at the screen of her phone and snapping pictures of everyone as they stretched, whether they wanted to be photographed or not. Jean glared at her, splaying a hand out in front of his face.

“You'd better not put that shit on Facebook.”

Krista poked her tongue out at him, taking pictures anyway. “Oh, cool out, Jean. You look like Annie, all scowling and grumpy.”

Jean grumbled in response, sliding into a deeper stretch, trying to refocus on their performance, rather than daydream about spending the rest of the evening with Marco. He ran choreography in his head, spacing out.

Several other teams were scattered across the mats in the warm up area, and Jean absently watched some of them talking. He was startled from his daze by a voice behind him, coming from a smiling face.

“Hey, mind if I stretch with you?” A tall, scrawny guy in a vest not unlike Jean’s stood looking down at him, a wide grin on his face. His face full of freckles and big, brown eyes reminded Jean pleasantly of Marco, but his messily styled red hair and loud voice were a drastic departure. Still, Jean nodded cordially and shrugged.

“Sure, whatever works.”

The redhead slid into the floor beside Jean, much closer than was probably strictly necessary, but Jean was admittedly too distracted to care. Krista flitted by, prodding at both of them to smile, and Jean complied as much as he could muster, flashing a manufactured grin until Krista fluttered away again. He continued his stretching in silence. The cheerleader beside him seemed to take that as an invitation for conversation.

“You from Maria?”

“Mhm.” Jean nodded, trying to remain polite. “You?”

“Sina. Captain this year. I'm a senior.” There was a distinctive tone of snugness in his voice. He turned to Jean, not hiding the fact that he was looking him up and down. “What about you?”

“I'm a senior, too.” Jean said plainly. “Co-captain.”

“Nice. So, uh – you doing anything after the competition, today?”

“Uh, not sure…” Jean glanced over to where Krista was standing, now snapping pictures of some of the other cheerleaders. “I mean, the girls will probably all go out, but I’m not sure if there are actual plans.”

The redhead gave Jean a coy smile, walking his arms forward until his upper body was flat in front of his split legs, head resting in his open palms on bent elbows. “You wanna _make_ some plans?”

“Oh. _Oh.”_ When Jean realized what was being asked of him, he shook his head automatically. “No thanks – I have a boyfriend.”

“Should've guessed.” The other boy smirked, confident expression not slipping away. “Worth a try. Good luck today, gorgeous!”

With that he was gone, but not without tossing a last glance over his shoulder at Jean. Getting hit on wasn’t necessarily _unheard_ of, for Jean – but it was something that hadn't happened much since he and Marco had gotten together. The redhead continued to eye him flirtatiously as their teams moved into adjacent huddles to talk with coaches, but Jean ignored him. He gave the attention every bit of the concern he figured it deserved, which was none at all. All he cared about was the fact that his boyfriend was there to see him.

But Marco didn't seem very happy to be there.

When Jean finally spotted him, he was sitting near the top of the stands, looking uncomfortable, and alone save for a few scattered, disinterested dads sitting a few benches away. He was staring down at the screen of his phone, a hard frown on his face. Jean wished he could text him, run up the metal stairs between the bleachers to talk to him – but they were on in less than five minutes. Jean nearly missed the squad leaving for the floor as he looked up at where Marco sat.

The next few minutes were a frantic blur. Music thumping around him, Jean tried to paste on his most confident expression, body moving of its own accord as he silently thanked himself for practicing enough to know their routine without much conscious thought. He was too busy watching his boyfriend, waiting for a smile, for _anything_ that indicated that Marco was watching him in return. So focused on the top of the bleachers he was that he nearly dropped Annie at least once, snapping out of his daze long enough to recover the lift when she wobbled in his hands. When the song ended, they hit their final pose, and then they were bounding off the mat, smiling despite the fact that things didn't go as well as usual.

On their way back to cool down and dress out again, Jean walked alone, the other cheerleaders shooting him glares when they passed. But no one bothered to yell at him for his lackluster performance; even the coaches addressed the entire squad, echoing everyone’s disappointment. Jean dressed out without paying them any attention. Marco was outside, and he was finally free to go find him. But when they returned to the stands to wait for scores, a Jean couldn't find him.

Marco was gone.

They lost to another squad, placing second for the first time in the school’s history.

The day was less than Jean had hoped for, to be sure. When he returned home that evening, he waited for a phone call, an explanation. But none came. Finally, he called Marco himself.

“Hey,” Marco answered, sounding distracted.

“Hi.” Jean paused for a moment, waiting for Marco to say something more. He didn’t. Jean dismissed it, and flopped down onto his bed, rubbing at his tired eyes.

“God, it's good to hear your voice,” he sighed, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that something was off. “Today felt like it was gonna drag on forever.”

Marco maintained his shortness. “Definitely a long day, yeah.”

“You okay?” Jean finally asked. He rolled up onto his side, turning up the volume on his phone, just to be sure he wasn’t missing anything Marco was saying. “I was kind of hoping you were gonna stick around after the competition. Why’d you rush off?”

Another pause. “I had things to do.”

“Uh, alright. I figured that when you didn't call me all day.” Jean tried to keep his voice playful, teasing instead of accusatory. “You still wanna go do something tomorrow?”

“I don't know, Jean.” Marco said sharply. “Why don't you go somewhere with that guy from the cheerleading thing?”

“Huh?” Jean stared down at his phone screen. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Marco huffed, almost laughed. “Seriously? It was on Facebook, Jean. How did you think I wouldn't see that?”

Jean groped blindly at the space beneath his bed, grabbing for his laptop. He pulled up the Facebook tab he nearly always kept open, and there at the top of his news feed were pictures, photos Krista had snapped at the competition, with his name and many others tagged. And the first one with his name attached showed him and the overly friendly guy from the other school, stretching together before the meet. The angle almost made it seem that they were touching, their legs overlapping as they smiled patiently back at Krista. Jean gaped at the image for a moment, his stomach dropping.

“Marco, that guy – I don't even know his name! He just came over and started stretching with me!”

“Looks awfully _friendly,_ to just be stretching.”

Jean stammered, the shaky conversation threatening to trip him entirely. “He – I mean, h-he flirted with _me_ a little bit, but--”

“I don't wanna talk about this anymore, Jean.” Marco sighed. Jean’s throat tightened, heat rising to his face as he struggled to keep his voice down, to keep his mother’s suspicions from being raised.

“Marco, _no_ – you don't understand – it really wasn't… You always get jealous and pissy about the dumbest shit, this is stupid! I--”

“Maybe it is, but I'm not.” Marco snapped. “I'm getting tired of this, Jean. I feel like everyone has your attention but me. Everyone pays attention to you, and I just… I don't even know where I factor in, anymore.”

“Well maybe you would if you weren't too busy picking me apart to just _watch_ me. Too busy digging up bullshit on Facebook. Did you even look at me once, today?” Jean scrubbed at his closed eyes; his voice was beginning to crack at the edges. He took a deep breath. “The only eyes I want on me are _yours,_ Marco. But if you don't wanna give ‘em to me--”

“You just settle for whoever else wants to?! Sorry I can't compete with literally every other person on the planet, Jean. I don't even know how to start.” There was a strained beat of silence, and then Marco breathed a long sigh. “I think I’m done.”

“Done?!” Jean hissed, still trying not to shout. “What, what do you…”

“I mean I don't wanna keep doing this! We’ll be in college in a few months and it’ll just get worse, all those new eyes on you. I’m tired of sharing you with the entire world.”

Jean clawed at his own hair, slamming a hand into his pillow. “Marco, that's fucking stupid!”

“Well, I'm sorry you think that the way I feel is _fucking stupid,_ Jean. But I'm done.” He sniffed, cleared his throat, and then, “Goodbye.”

The line went dead, and Jean’s phone returned to its home screen a moment later. The image he kept as a wallpaper there smiled back at him, a picture of him, peeking over Marco’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his waist. Jean pushed the lock button and the screen went black, and he dropped it onto the pillow beside him, half expecting that Marco would call him back.

But he never did.

That night, he slept in one of Marco’s sweatshirts, staining the oversized sleeves with tears.

\--

The next morning, Jean had class.

On his way to school, he drove on mental autopilot, dreading spending a day in the same halls as Marco if things were still as bad as they had been the night before. Maybe they would talk, though. Maybe things would be okay. But when he saw Marco in the hallway on his way to his first period class, it was only his profile as he quickly walked the other way. He wouldn't even _look_ at Jean.

The next few days were much the same, lonely and confusing. Marco made a concerted effort not to make contact with him, skipping lunch and changing seats in classes. No one prodded them about it – maybe they could see how little either of them wanted to talk about it by the hard set of Marco’s jaw, or the distant shine of Jean’s eyes as he kept himself composed despite it. Not everyone in school knew that he and Marco had been dating, but everyone definitely knew that they’d broken up.

Jean didn't have to worry about being lonely. Classes were still packed with people and his friends still moved in packs through the halls that they were happy to let him surround himself with. School was a loud, distracting blur, and it helped numb the sting of having to see Marco there. It was when Jean was home, when he had to be _alone_ that the sadness really took root.

Without Marco's voice ringing out from the speaker of his phone, Jean’s room felt empty, despite its clutter. Jackets, jerseys, shirts and scarves of Marco’s were everywhere, and even the smell of his bedroom was faintly laced with Marco’s cologne, still clinging to those fabrics. He knew that he would have to return all of it, eventually – Marco’s mother would never stand for someone else keeping Marco’s things, especially if she knew why Jean had them. But he made no plans to do so; he'd grown too used to having pieces of Marco coloring every corner of his life. As the painfully quiet days passed, those pieces were all that kept him company as he struggled to sleep at night.

Still, it wasn't the total, flaming disaster Jean expected that it would become.

In the days that followed, took time for himself. He did things he enjoyed, marathoned shows Marco refused to watch and ate every food that Marco hated, stretching in the wiggle room his unattached status allowed him. He talked to friends and even talked to his mother. There was freedom, no compromise. In that week, he learned more about himself than he had in years previous. It shouldn't have startled him, but seeing just how okay he was with himself – and being by himself – came as a shock. But it didn't change the fact that he missed Marco.

Just days before, Jean would've believed that he needed Marco to breathe. But he didn't. Thinking about the months ahead, about graduation and college and the whole world he had ahead of himself, he knew he’d be just fine on his own. He didn't require someone to lean on in life.

But that didn't stop him wanting someone to _share_ it with. It didn't stop him from wanting that someone to be Marco. Having a boyfriend didn't complete Jean; a piece hadn't gone missing when Marco left. But the two of them complimented each other, two whole people who were made more perfect together, and Jean couldn't help thinking that they still could be. Before the sun could set on their seventh day apart from each other, Jean decided that he was done wondering if Marco felt the same way.

He messaged Marco to ask if they could meet somewhere, just to talk. If nothing else, he had things he should return to him, though he desperately hoped their conversation wouldn't come to that. After a few hours of silence and second guessing that left Jean feeling worse than he had in the whole week before, Marco actually responded – and _agreed_. His response was cordial and cool, but Jean’s whole body felt a little warmer just seeing Marco’s name on his screen again.

They met in an abandoned parking lot, situated on a steep hill behind their town’s shopping mall. It was a familiar spot for both of them, where they’d often been before when friends and alone, but in the fading daylight, it somehow seemed foreign. Above their parked cars, the sun was beginning to set, the edges of the skyline bleeding pink across the horizon. Jean wondered if the sun was going down for him and Marco, as well.

“Hey.”

It was his first word to Marco in nearly a week, but stepping out of his car and crossing the pavement toward him, Jean couldn't think of much else to say. Marco didn’t do any better.

“Hey,” he muttered, rocking on his heels with his hands jammed into his pockets.

“Looks like it might rain,” Jean said, glancing toward the sky.

“Yeah,” Marco nodded, biting at his nails as he watched Jean, rather than the clouds beginning to roll in above them. Jean shifted under his gaze, toying with the zipper of the sweatshirt he wore. It was Marco’s. He wondered if Marco noticed.

“S’okay, though,” he muttered. “We don't have to be here very long.”

Marco nodded again, rubbing at the skin just under his nose, a nervous tic Jean had long since memorized. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I, um…” Jean looked down at the pavement beneath his feet, kicking a loose stone across the mottled grey expanse in front of him. It was strange, feeling so distant from someone he’d been so close to for so long. But he knew he couldn't bridge that gap if he didn't bite the bullet and _talk_. “Look, I just wanted to clear the air on a few things, and then you can go and never talk to me again, if you don't want to. I mean, I _do_ want you to talk to me, but that's not the point. I…” He could feel Marco’s eyes on him, boring through him as he cleared his throat and _made_ himself keep talking.

“I need you to know that I'm okay without you. Totally fucking fine. I had no idea how okay I was being alone until a few days ago. But like… I still _want_ you. I don't need to be with you, but I really fucking _want_ to. And it's okay if you don't want to, because I don't want something fake. And I don't want us to be together if we're not _both_ gonna try to make it work. But I just needed you to know that I _love_ you. Still. And I would choose to be with you and work things out over and over again because I want us.”

Marco’s mouth hung open, a tiny quiver at the corner of his lips. “Jean…”

“I'm not saying you have to come back, ok? I didn't come here to _ask_ you to come back. I just… wanted to say that shit, and get it off my chest, because--”

_“Jean,_ let me _\--”_

“—because regardless of anything, you're really important to me, and no one makes me as happy as you do, and I think we could still work if you wanted to. But only if you--”

_“Jean!”_ Marco finally shouted, his voice cracking. “Baby – _listen_ to me.”

Jean finally stopped babbling, blinking back at Marco as his brain caught up to his hearing. _“Baby?”_

“Jean, I'm so sorry.” Marco breathed his words more than he spoke them, his voice choked and tight. “This whole thing is my fault, but I really don't even know what I could say that would fix anything. Krista blew up on me when she found out about us breaking up, and she told me that guy wasn’t any - but I still didn't--” His shook his head sharply. “I was so jealous and bitter and _stupid_ for no reason. You didn't even do anything, I just... “I wanted to apologize the next day, but you seemed so… fine, without me.”

“Because I was!” Jean snapped. When Marco winced, he reined himself in. “I mean I _am._ I don't need a boyfriend to exist. But that doesn't mean I don't _want_ one, and I want it to be you.”

Marco’s breath hitched, and Jean noticed that his eyes had fallen to the jacket loosely hanging from Jean’s shoulders, the one with Marco’s number and name scripted across the back and sleeve. “I was so wrong. So wrong, and so damned immature. I know I don't deserve it, but I just want to be with you, Jean. But if you don't want to come back, I can't blame you. You deserve a lot better than me.”

A roll of thunder punctuated his sentence, distant and almost too quiet to hear. But then Jean felt a drop of rain hit his face, and then another and another, a light sprinkle that was cool against his flushed skin. He closed his eyes for a moment and titled his head back, trying to collect himself to keep his tears from adding to the wetness on his face. What he ended up doing was laughing. Marco stared at him, swaying uneasily in place as he watched him.

“What's funny?” He asked. Jean shook his head.

_“You!”_ He cracked, still grinning to keep from tearing up. “God, Marco – you fuck up like _once_ in your entire life, and you honestly think I won't forgive you? As weak as I am for your ass, anyway?” He bit back another laugh, reaching out to wipe what may or may not have been rain from Marco’s cheeks. “Where else would I go, baby? Where would I rather be?”

Marco nodded, lips pressed into a thin line to keep them from shaking. “M’never gonna do this again, Jean. Never.”

Jean shook his head. “Even if you do, I'm gonna be right here. I don't wanna play games anymore, Marco. Everybody messes up once in a while, and I know for damn sure that I'm going to. We’re still so fucking _young,_ and that's just life. But I want the kinda relationship where I know that doesn't mean I shit at the end of the day, and I want it with you.”

“Then you have it,” Marco breathed, “I promise.”

It wasn't exactly what either of them really meant to say, but it was more than enough in the moment. Marco stepped into Jean’s space, knuckles cracking nervously as his hands looked for something to do, something to hold. Jean wasted no time, throwing his arms around Marco’s neck and letting those hands land on his hips, hauling him into the air as he wrapped his legs around Marco’s waist.

Around them, the rain came down harder, slicking Marco’s hair to his face and soaking the back of Jean’s neck. He raked fingers through Marco’s hair, pushing it away from his forehead to press a kiss there. Marco tightened his grip, pulling Jean tighter to him. The thunder grew louder, and in the midst of it, Jean kissed Marco like he never had, full of forgiveness and desperation and _love._

Another peal of thunder boomed above them, reminding them of the storm beginning to swirl. Marco gripped Jean hard with one hand, the other fumbling behind him as he backed them toward the door of his truck, lips still sliding across Jean’s as he pried the door open so that he could fall backward through it.

Jean fell on top of him, wriggling his legs free enough to scramble up and find his mouth again. Marco kicked at the door until he found the handle, pulling it closed as best he could with his foot. Between kisses, Jean carded fingers through his soaked hair, scratching at his scalp and humming against his lips.

“You okay?” He asked, nipping at Marco’s jaw. Marco nodded, hands skating along the dampened clothes on Jean’s back before slowing to a stop at the swell of his ass.

“Yeah, God yeah – can I just… touch you, please?” He rolled his hips upward into Jean’s, and Jean groaned at the contact, a spark igniting something bigger in his chest. Marco always asked permission, but this was more serious, a plea to go back to the way things were, not just to _touch_ him, but to be allowed to _love_ him again. Jean pushed up onto his arms, looking down with heavily lidded eyes.

_“Please.”_

Marco cupped a hand behind Jean’s head, thumb rubbing gently at his neck as he pulled him back down for another kiss. For a moment, they were entirely consumed with each other, bodies twisting together as Jean tugged at Marco’s jacket, nosing it out of his way to plant more kisses on his neck. Marco rolled his body against Jean’s again, hands sliding over his back and thighs as he sighed in near-disbelief of the moment.

“Missed you so much,” he breathed across Jean’s ear. “M’so damn lucky. Thought I'd never get to do this again.”

Jean hummed against the skin beneath his lips. “As long as you still wanna do it, I do too.”

Marco nodded, trying to combat the obvious shake in his voice. “Wanna do this every day.” He kissed the top of Jean’s head, his forehead, his eyelids as they closed. “Never wanna stop doing this. I love you so much, baby. I was so stupid, I--”

Jean pressed two fingers to Marco’s lips, replacing them with his own until Marco effectively forgot to keep talking. “Hey, no – no more of that. I told you a hundred damn times, I'm yours, and nobody else’s. You don't have to share me with anybody. But if you're ever doubting that, feel free to let me prove it.” Pressing one last kiss to Marco’s lips, Jean sat back on his feet, pulling Marco upright. He motioned for Marco to turn, rearranging them until Marco was sitting in the middle of his front seat, Jean perched in his lap.

“I don't deserve you.” Marco muttered, hands skimming Jean’s sides as he stared up at him in reverence. Jean smirked, fingers returning to Marco's hair for a moment as he leaned in for another kiss.

“Let’s debate that later.” He circled his hips roughly in Marco’s lap, biting at his lip when Marco hissed at the friction. Jean trailed a hand down between them to palm at the bulge behind the catch of Marco’s pants. The sound of Marco’s stuttered breathing was its own reward.

Jean didn't bother hiding his grin as he dropped to the floor of the car, gently pushing Marco’s legs apart as he settled between them on his knees. Marco inhaled sharply, hands curling into fists as he tried to decide what to do with them. Jean quickly made it obvious that he wouldn't need them; he unzipped Marco’s jeans and smiled wider as his erection sprang free to tent his boxers.

“This okay, baby?” He asked, pausing to watch for Marco’s bleary nod before hooking fingers under the waistband of his underwear. He didn't pull them down, right away. Instead, he gently scratched blunt nails through coarse, dark curls, ghosting parted lips over the skin just above them and stopping to nip at the sharp line of Marco’s hip.

“You don't have to s-spoil me,” Marco murmured, looking down to watch Jean move across his fevered skin. “Don't deserve it.”

Jean licked a long, hot line up the narrow trail of hair that led to Marco’s navel and dropped a kiss there. “Always wanna spoil you, baby.” He nosed at Marco’s belly button and kissed his stomach again. “But this is for me.”

To prove his point, he dropped his face to the hardness straining the cloth of Marco’s shorts and mouthed along his arousal, leaving the fabric wetter than it already was, and moaning shamelessly at the sharp, salty taste of the damp spot spreading from the soaked head of Marco’s cock. Marco made a valiant effort to keep his hips still, planted firmly in place in his seat. Jean made it no easier on him.

"For me,” he repeated between agonizingly slow swipes of his tongue across still-clothed skin. Marco nodded fervently, a hand settling in his own hair as he shivered.

“All for you.”

When Jean finally had mercy on him - tugging Marco’s jeans to his ankles and pulling his boxers down after them – Marco gasped a sigh, a breath of Jean’s name. A single swirl of his tongue over Marco’s slick cock, and Jean licked his lips, stroking him and spreading the wetness there all the way down to the base. He tightened the circle of his fingers there, sparing a lingering look up at Marco as he dragged his lips messily back up his length, before finally, _finally_ wrapping them around his thickness and taking him into his mouth with a satisfied moan.

Marco groaned to match Jean’s sated sounds, a shiver rippling from his hips to his shoulders as he gently rocked forward into Jean’s mouth. Jean tightened the swirl of his tongue over the head of Marco’s cock and relaxed as best he could at his severe angle, letting his boyfriend roll his hips and breathing in the beautiful sounds of his sighs.

One hand fumbling for something to hold onto, Marco dragged the other through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes so that he could see, a near-pointless gesture seeing as Jean had all but robbed him of the ability to look past the haze of lust clouding his vision. He stammered a dazed chorus of praises, _“beautiful, gorgeous, so damned pretty.”_ Jean breathed a shuddering moan at the words, taking Marco deeper into his mouth as Marco took him higher with hungry, desperate gasps.

It was no secret between them that Jean loved going down on Marco. Marco was wonderful at _giving,_ but there was nothing quite as sexy as the way he fell apart _receiving,_ melting under Jean’s attention and loudly reminding him of how absolutely perfect he was. It was something Jean had worried he would miss forever, if Marco had stayed gone. And it was something he was determined not to miss out on, now that he wasn't. He took his time, taking nothing for granted, matching Marco breath for panting breath, moan for muffled moan, even around his mouthful.

Pulling Jean’s head back sharply by his hair, Marco looked down at him, eyes dark with need. Jean grinned, licked his swollen lips and tried to loosen Marco’s twisting grip on his hair to return to work on his cock, but when Marco did move his hands away, it was to hook them under Jean’s arms, hauling him into his lap like he weighed nothing at all.

Once he was settled there, Jean peeled his shirt over his head, his arms rolling in time with the tide of his hips. The shirt still on his wrists, he dropped his arms behind him, showing himself restrained. Marco stared, chest rising sharply as he watched Jean writhe in his lap, looking back at him with a bitten lip and inviting eyes. Jean glanced down at the chain around his neck, where Marco’s ring was hanging, Marco following his gaze. They’d traded months ago, each wearing the other’s as a sort of wordless promise, and when Marco saw his – hanging in its usual place against Jean’s pale, flushed skin – his eyes went wide. He grabbed at the ring, careful not to pull the cord too hard, looking up a Jean with disbelief.

“You _still_ \- even though we were...?”

“Always, Number Seven,” Jean grinned, his confident persona slipping for a moment. He loosed his arms and looped the chain around his thumb, pulling it out from his chest proudly. “Every damn day.”

“Jean – _baby_ …” Marco shook his head. A wave of affection gave way to a possessiveness that he only ever felt when they were alone together. He tried to remain patient, show Jean just how in love he was, how in awe he was of every inch of him. But Jean had a way of cracking his composure, of dragging a desperate, dominant _animal_ out from behind Marco’s façade of control. Jean loved being claimed, and Marco loved being the one to do it. He _growled,_ breathing coming in sharp pants of Jean’s name. “Jean, I’m… tryin’ so hard not to – _damn it,_ babe I can't take this.”

“You want me to stop? Want me to quit teasin’ you?” Jean asked the question, but he did it between firm nips at the shell of Marco’s ear, his breath hot across Marco's face as he followed it up with a questioning hum.

“No-n,” Marco insisted. He sank fingertips hard into Jean’s slender thighs, holding him in place for a moment to let his brain catch up to his hammering heart. Squeezing there, he grinned up at Jean. “Just don't be upset if I can't keep my hands to myself, beautiful.”

Jean smirked. “All part of the plan.” He leaned back, running hands over Marco’s strong shoulders and arms, reminding himself of the curve of every muscle. His hands had long since mapped every inch of Marco’s broad chest, but that didn't stop him exploring, relearning the way his boyfriend’s heated skin felt beneath his touch.

“You're so gorgeous,” Marco breathed, watching him with a mix of adoration and desire.

“Glad you think so, baby.” Jean popped the button on his own pants, hauling himself up onto his knees to push them down, giving Marco his most convincingly wicked grin. “’Cause this is all for you.”

“Need it,” Marco whined, pawing at the waistline of Jean’s pants, pushing until he could pull them off of him completely, and toss them into the backseat behind them. He ran eager hands up either side of Jean’s warm thighs and groaned. “Please, I just--”

“Anything, Marco.” Jean whispered, looping arms around Marco’s neck and softly brushing his lips there as he stilled his hips for a fraction of a moment. _“Anything.”_

“So beautiful.” Marco murmured, returning Jean’s kisses in kind, trailing his mouth hot and wet down the column Jean’s neck. “So perfect, love you so damn much.”

Jean didn’t bother stifling the moan those words dragged out of him. He let his head fall back for a moment, let Marco kiss down one side of his neck and back up the other before pressing his cheek to Marco’s, humming. “Mmm, _show_ me how much, baby.”

Marco sucked in a sharp breath at the way Jean circled and dropped his hips, making his needs perfectly clear. He tore at what was left of Jean’s clothing, and as it fell to the floorboard, Jean prayed they wouldn't be caught. But maybe the risk of someone seeing him that way – naked and spread across his boyfriend’s lap – was exactly why he felt so lightheaded. Or maybe it was just the way Marco was _looking_ at him.

With rough hands roaming freely over his bare body, Jean hissed at the way Marco’s remaining clothes rubbed against him. He wriggled fingers under the hem of Marco’s shirt, lifting it over his head while Marco raised his arms obediently. While they were still above his head, Jean pinned them, holding his wrists crossed above the top of the headrest, dragging his mouth over Marco’s exposed shoulders and chest. He bit down, gently, pressing teeth into the soft flesh at the bend of Marco’s neck, and his boyfriend whined for him.

“Yes, baby – please,” Marco mumbled, already half out of his mind, eyes fluttering closed. Jean sucked at the skin under his teeth, laving his tongue over it as he pulled away, and chose another spot. By the time he'd left three dark, beautiful bruises scattered across Marco’s collarbones, Marco was getting impatient, and Jean wasn't of any mind to keep him waiting.

He rolled his body for one last teasing grind of his ass against Marco’s dick, but Marco’s hand slapped against his hip and held him in place, fingers of the other hand wrapping tightly around Jean’s twitching cock. Marco gave him a few messy strokes, moaning along with him at the way Jean’s hips jerked up into his hand of their own accord.

_“S-shit,_ Marco.” He tried to collect himself, regain some semblance of self control, but Marco's fingers around him were making breathing difficult, let alone _thinking_. He found the beginnings of a steady rhythm, and Jean reached up to twist fingers in his hair, trying not to lose himself already. “Baby, you gotta slow down.”

“Can’t,” Marco rasped. “Need you.”

“You _have_ me, babe – I’m yours. Just – _fuck, baby_ – just take it easy before I come all over your hand.”

Marco laughed, low and ragged and nothing like the voice anyone else ever heard. This was just for Jean. “Doesn't sound so bad to me.” He continued, stroking Jean with even twists of his wrist that made _perfect_ use of the slickness beginning to drip down his length. Jean tightened his grip on Marco’s hair, forehead pressed to Marco’s as he whimpered a response.

“Mm, m-maybe not, but I'd rather wait ‘til I’ve at least gotten your dick, first.”

That seemed to give Marco the message. He stopped, only long enough to rub his thumb in teasing circles across the slick head of Jean’s cock. He smiled up at him, tightening his grip on Jean’s hip with the other hand. “Who said I was _givin’_ you my dick?”

“Pretty sure you did, sir.” Jean smirked, loosening his fingers from Marco’s hair to trail them over his erection, still slightly slick from Jean’s messy attention moments before. Jean grinned at the way Marco’s hips snapped up into his hand at the feeling, biting his lip as he rolled his own again in response. He tried not to linger on how happy he was to be playing their little game of cat and mouse, how emotional he was getting over grinding in his boyfriend’s lap in some shitty, abandoned parking lot. Instead, he hummed low in his throat, willing his voice to remain confident, even as it wavered at the feeling of Marco’s mouth returning to his shoulder for a playful, teasing kiss. He returned the favor with a hard, biting kiss of his own. “And if you didn't, I have ways of changing your mind.”

The bright, blooming marks he’d scattered across Marco’s neck and shoulders were gorgeous in the low light of the truck cabin, a memory book of their lovemaking that others never saw, but Jean often fought to keep from coming apart at the mere _thought_ of. It was something about the way Marco looked at himself in the mirror every time they were alone together that really got to Jean, as if he were proudly admiring Jean’s work. It was the way he pressed fingers to the tender bruises when they were sitting in class, biting his lip at the way it drew Jean’s eyes to him and held them, both of them vividly remembering _exactly_ how those marks had gotten there. Jean put everything into ensuring he kept Marco covered with them, and after a week of worrying he'd never leave another, he did his best to make up for time lost.

“Look so pretty all bruised up, baby,” he purred, bending down to sink his teeth into heated skin, again. He growled through his nose at the taste of salty skin under his tongue as he dragged it over the rising blush of another bruise. Beneath him, Marco moaned, unable to camouflage the need in his voice. Jean had little patience left for pretense, either.

Finally abandoning his teasing, he pulled away from his work marking his boyfriend up, and twisted to reach under Marco’s seat. Something about finding their stash – an oversized, half-empty bottle of Astroglide tucked between a stack of clean gym towels, still hidden where it had always been – made him smile. But he was far too concerned for the moment with _using_ it to get too sentimental about it. He shoved the bottle into Marco’s bare chest and dropped his lips to warm, freckled skin at the nape of his neck, yet to be marked.

With one hand artlessly groping at Jean’s ass, Marco blindly fumbled with the cap of the bottle of lubricant. Fingers sliding through the slickness spilled over it, he couldn't manage to get it open, resorting to twisting when it wouldn't pop. Marco might have laughed, but then he caught Jean’s eyes, and Jean caught his lips before sound could escape them. Between them, he continued twisting and pulling at the lid, even as Jean stole another breathless moan from him.

Finally the cap popped and the bottle all but _exploded._

Jean glanced down; it was _everywhere_. On his hands, on Marco’s stomach and thighs, on the seat below them. He wondered how much of the mess they could excuse as a result of the rain, should anyone else see it. For the time being, he ran a slick hand across the head of Marco’s dick and they moaned in unison at the perfect slide of it. Fingers tightening into a circle around him, Marco’s breath stuttered as he pulled Jean’s chin close enough to kiss and rumbled into his ear, “Turn around, baby.”

Jean did as he was told.

Marco knew exactly how he liked it. More than a few times, Marco had fingered him, face to face. Jean liked being kissed, petted, praised as he sank down onto his boyfriend’s fingers, fucking himself open, riding his hand until he was ready to take more. But if there was anything that set his knees to shaking and his heart rioting in his chest, it was when Marco took full control, bending him over whatever happened to be the nearest flat surface and working him open until he was out of breath and begging to be _taken._ No sooner had Marco’s command to turn left his lips then Jean was looking out the front window, watching Marco over his shoulder as he dragged a hand through the slippery mess in his lap.

Marco’s first touch was always teasing, no matter how worked up they'd gotten themselves. He moved in slick circles around Jean’s entrance, breath shallow as he watched Jean grind backward into his hand. When he finally sank a single finger into him, it was slow, careful despite Jean’s wordless pleading. Somehow, Marco was always able to take his time.

Jean was less patient. He adjusted quickly, maybe just because nothing sounded better at that moment than giving himself over to Marco. The windows around them began to cloud with the heat of their combined breathing, hot panting that left a haze of steam on every pane of glass. Jean was glad for it; at least if anyone _did_ see the truck, they wouldn't immediately see _him,_ a flushed, flustered mess, falling apart as Marco slid another finger into him.

With a gentle twist that Marco had learned with much practice, he carefully worked Jean open, his other hand alternating between languid, gliding strokes of Jean’s aching cock, and slow circles rubbed into his tense thighs. Marco wanted him relaxed – he wanted him _ready._ That much, Jean could deliver on.

When Marco’s fingers found the spot they were searching for, Jean hissed, body tensing for a moment before he rocked back sharply, words slurring into a jumbled mess as he begged for more. Marco obliged, drawing his thumb across his stretched entrance as he let Jean rock backward into his hand.

“There,” Jean rasped, gasping for air. “Right there, baby, need it _right there.”_ He dragged his saliva-slicked chin across his shoulder to wipe it and moaned, head falling back so that he could see Marco through bliss-heavy eyes. “Don't want your fingers anymore, want _you.”_

Marco laughed, low and rough. “You ready for it, baby? Hm? You want my cock, pretty boy?”

_That name._

It was Jean’s absolute _weakness,_ his favorite thing to be called. And Marco was using it to its fullest effect, almost _singing_ it as he swept fingers over Jean’s prostate in deliberate, maddening circles. Jean nodded, momentarily reduced to wordless panting as he slapped at the glove compartment, scrambling for the box of condoms inside. He handed one over his shoulder, still nodding deliriously.

The package ripped open, and Jean glanced over his shoulder to see Marco with the edge of it between his teeth, looking back at him with dark, lust-glazed eyes. “Show me how you want it. Anything you want - it's yours.”

Jean whimpered. “I want…” He spread his hips across Marco’s lap, legs bent on either side of Marco’s thighs as he leaned up onto his knees, bracing himself on the dashboard. “Like this.”

“You sure?” Marco asked as he rolled on the condom. It was more to rile Jean up than anything, keep him pleading for it while he took the time to slick himself with more lube. “You want me to fuck you across my dash? S’at what you want, beautiful?”

Jean nodded again, wiping an arm roughly across his mouth to keep from drooling on himself. Marco whispered his question again, taunting him as he lowered his hips, teasing Jean’s entrance with the tip of his cock.

“S’this what you want, baby? You need this?”

Jean threw his head back, letting it roll onto Marco’s shoulder with a crack moan. “Please, Marco!”

Finally, Marco seemed ready to oblige. He dropped a messy, open-mouthed kiss to Jean’s shoulder, steadying himself as he lined up their hips.

“Anything for you.”

Even stretched by Marco’s attentive fingers, sinking down onto Marco’s cock was slow, a continuous wave of Jean’s hips as he adjusted to the way Marco filled him. He let himself feel every tiny movement, easing his way back into Marco’s lap, until he was sitting flush against him, taking every inch of him.

Marco bit down hard on whatever skin he could reach, leaving what would surely be an impressive bruise at the bend of Jean’s shoulder blade. He raked blunt fingernails up the sides of his legs, leaving searing red streaks on Jean’s thighs that he would surely kiss away later. In the meantime, he let his hands linger when they came to rest on Jean’s ass, the only real softness on his slight frame. Marco kneaded handfuls of him, soothing hands over Jean’s hips while they both adjusted to the feeling.

Finally, Jean pushed himself up on shaking legs, just a fraction of an inch. He dropped back down and _whined_ at the sweet burn, the feeling of being so wide open on Marco’s cock. He repeated the movement, lifting and dropping his hips until he found a rhythm he could manage. Marco helped set the pace, hands dug firmly into his thighs.

_“Yes,_ baby – _God,_ I've missed this – lemme take it, fill me up, _fffuck…”_ Jean muttered bits and pieces of sentences as his thoughts began to melt, giving way to blinding, blissful _feeling_. As Marco peppered his shoulders and spine with encouraging kisses, Jean reached forward to slam hands onto the dashboard, bracing himself as he raised his hips a little higher between each of Marco’s thrusts. “So good, you feel so good, so fucking big – needed this, needed you.”

“So damn hot, Jean – watchin’ you. My perfect, beautiful boy.” Marco reached out to grab the rear view mirror, pointing it downward so Jean could see his own flushed face, jaw slack and lips wet and swollen from being kissed. He nudged Jean’s chin to one side, pushing him more into the frame of the mirror. “See? So gorgeous. Watch.” When Jean swallowed hard, letting his eyes shutter closed, Marco growled, reaching up to tug his head backward, fingers fisting in Jean’s hair as he sharply repeated, _“Watch.”_

Jean's eyes snapped open. He did as he was directed, watching the feeling of every sharp thrust as it played across his face. Marco set a steady, rolling pace, rocking Jean in his lap as he sucked another dark mark on his neck. Mouth still at work, he looked up into the mirror along with Jean, dark eyes focused on Jean’s dazed stare.

“Us,” Jean murmured, not even sure he was making sense. But against the reddened skin of his shoulder, Marco nodded, tracing a gentle hand down the other side of Jean’s neck before returning it with roughness to his hip.

With a noisy pop, Marco pulled away from Jean’s bruised skin, trailing his tongue over it once more for good measure. It was just another small hickey, but Marco might as well have been _devouring_ him, the heat building inside of Jean with each collision of their hips threatening an uncontrollable fire. The rhythm Marco set their lovemaking to was one of the things that left Jean craving more, alternating between gentle, lilting rolls of their bodies and hard, breath-taking thrusts. What started as tingling touches always gave way to rough, needy, messy _fucking,_ and screams of each other’s names.

Their rocking was already shaking the car, Jean gripping anything he could reach to ground himself as he let Marco take the lead. If there was anything he loved more than performing for Marco, it was the way Marco roughly handled him afterward, hungry and desperate and _nothing_ like the calm, composed person that everyone else knew. _His_ Marco could be dominating. His Marco could also be doting, spoil Jean rotten doing things just the way he liked. His Marco was holding him firmly in place, digging little red half-moons into the skin of his hips as he rocked up into him, breathing painted with his name.

Jean was nearly gone, but not so far that he couldn't hear the way Marco was beginning to crack, crumbling at the sight of him. He dropped his hips again, moaning raggedly at the way Marco hit him, the way he filled him completely. Marco let his head fall to Jean’s shoulder, gravelly little whispers and praises falling from him as he clutched at what was left of his wits.

Jean dropped one hand behind him, searching for Marco’s. “See how much you fill me up, baby?” He guided Marco’s hand down his stomach, pressing it to the sweat-slicked skin just above his cock, over the thin trail of dusty blond hair there. Marco rolled his hips up into him again, and Jean held his hand in place, letting him feel the gentle shift of his taut stomach as his body moved to accommodate Marco’s. “Can feel you fucking _everywhere_ – can you feel it?”

Marco gasped, kneading his palm into the spot beneath it. “Jean, _god,_ you know what that does to me…”

Jean moaned, circling his hips to take Marco deeper, to feel as much of him as could. “Watch what you do to me, baby.” He leaned back, draping an arm back over both of them and the headrest, head falling to the side so that Marco could look down at the way his hips spread wide, _see_ the way he was moving inside of him. He repeated Marco’s breathy command. _“Watch.”_

Lip bitten hard between his teeth, Marco did watch. He groaned into Jean’s ear as he ghosted his fingers over the skin of his stomach, teasing them through dark blonde curls as he dipped his hand lower. Jean’s frantic movement stuttered, and he fell forward, catching himself with one hand on the dash, the other slamming and dragging across the steam-fogged window. He left it there for a moment, loving the way Marco’s frenzied thrusts jerked his whole body, making an even bigger mess of the window and of Jean.

“Perfect,” Marco stammered, as love-drunk as Jean was. His touch was reverent, worshipful despite their roughness. “You're so fucking _cute_ when you're a mess, so _pretty.”_ He nudged at Jean’s chin and wrapped an arm tight around his waist, cradling him securely and turning him sharply for a kiss over his shoulder. Jean melted against him, tugging at his bottom lip and sucking at Marco’s tongue as he ran it across the curve of Jean’s teeth.

“Marco, I can't keep – s’too much, baby, m’gonna lose it.” Jean whimpered, head dropping forward into the bend of his elbow as his legs began to shake.

Marco hummed, stalling as he wrangled his own train of thought into something like coherence, almost as beside himself as Jean was. “Gonna come for me? Gonna make a mess all over my truck?” He _pounded_ up into Jean, fingers trailing up to his ribs and back down over his narrow waist before wrapping around Jean’s soaked cock. _“Do it,_ baby. Wanna see you do it for me, _c’mon.”_

Jean gripped the dashboard for support, arms shaking almost as much as his legs as he let Marco’s thrusts do the work, let them bounce him hard enough to move Marco’s hand on his cock as he panted his boyfriend’s name. “Marco, Marco, _M-mahhh_ …”

Marco snapped his hips harder, faster as he held Jean in place. “Louder, baby. Scream for me. Let _everybody_ hear you.”

_“MARCO!”_

Release building hot and tight, Jean’s hands scrambled for purchase along the expanse of the dashboard, knocking against switches and knobs and bumping the radio’s volume to near full blast. The speakers blared and the bass rattled the windows, and Jean might have cared enough to turn it off, if he weren't entirely _gone,_ head rolled back onto Marco’s shoulder as he screamed to match the music.

Marco fucked him through it, as unable to be bothered by the radio as Jean was as he bucked up into him. Fingernails dug searing tracks up the length of Jean’s thighs as his other hand kept rhythm, messily stroking him as he jerked hips forward into the tight ring of Marco’s fingers. Thick spurts of come splattered in ribbons across Marco’s dashboard, some of it even making it as far as the window, marking just how well he was fucking it out of him. With Jean so perfectly, _blindingly_ tight around him, Marco didn’t stand a chance of lasting, and bit down hard on the exposed bend of Jean’s neck as he cried out with his own release.

His legs having completely given out, Jean shuddered in Marco’s lap, their chests heaving in unison as Marco wound arms around him. His hips slowed their rocking, while he pressed kisses and promises that just skirted the topic of forever into Jean’s heated skin. Jean murmured his agreement and sighed as Marco lifted him by his hips, gently pulling out of him with a shared, contented sigh.

“Make sure you get rid of that,” he chuckled, idly watching Marco pull and tie the condom off to throw away. Jean wriggled back into his lap, still a sticky, sweaty disaster. Marco kissed him anyway, and Jean laughed into his lips. “Don't want anyone finding that particular piece of evidence.”

“If they want evidence, maybe I'll just leave the mess you made all over my truck. That's pretty unmistakable.” He gestured lazily at the streaks still dripping over the leather of his dashboard, and Jean huffed.

“Your fault, you know.”

Marco nodded, kissing Jean’s temple, his forehead, the tip of his nose. “That's something I'll gladly take credit for. Just… maybe not to my mom.”

They dissolved into sleepy, sated giggles. Marco made more breathless promises in place of apologies, whispers that just skirted the topic of forever, and Jean insisted he’d be holding him to all of them, once he had energy again. He let Marco clean him up, using a towel from his gym bag like a soft buffer on a gem, care in every movement of his hand across Jean’s skin. Jean slumped forward into his arms once he'd finished, humming contentedly as his face pressed into the sweat-damp skin of Marco’s chest.

The air inside Marco’s truck was thick with the heat of their bodies, and the love that was running over, falling from both of their lips as they lazily pressed them to each other’s skin. Marco settled Jean in his lap, sure that he was comfortable before turning his keys and pointing the air conditioning vents at both of them.

“Can I just hold you for a little while?” He asked, pushing back Jean’s sweat-slicked hair from his forehead and placing another kiss there. Jean nodded, shivering slightly in the chill of the cool air.

“You can hold me forever, if you want.” He pulled Marco’s sweatshirt from the floorboard and pulled it on loosely over his shoulders, a sole scrap of clothing on his otherwise naked body. Marco sat back as much as he could, hands running over Jean’s thighs as he took in the sight of him, smiling.

"Sounds like a plan."

Wriggling deeper into the plush folds of the sweatshirt, Jean leaned back on his elbows against the shoddily cleaned dashboard. “Speaking of plans, how long do you think you can stay out before your family hits the roof?”

Marco glanced at the clock on his dash, shrugging. “Not sure, but I'm willing to push my luck.”

They spent the rest of their evening doing just that, answering impatient phone calls from their parents and waiting out the storm, together. Just beyond the crest of the hill, the sun made an appearance from behind the clouds to paint the sky in shades of pink and purple before disappearing. It was a sunset made all the more beautiful by the fact that Jean watched it with Marco’s hand in his.

When Jean finally went home that night, he did so alone. But when he lay down for the evening, it was with his phone against his ear, Marco’s sweatshirt keeping him warm, and it was almost like Marco was with him. He smiled at his own reflection in his phone screen before drifting off to sleep.

Maybe one day.

\--

The next competition was much more like what Jean was accustomed to. Nervous excitement on the part of his teammates, and the feeling of freedom and confidence on his. Routine was a good thing in the world of a cheerleader, and even more so in Jean’s, since ‘back to normal’ meant being back to the things that made him happy. Even Krista’s incessant picture snapping didn't bother him. But when she bounded over to him during their stretches, it wasn't to take his picture. Instead, she dropped to one knee and whispered like she knew some exciting secret.

“Hey, you have a visitor at the doors.”

Jean looked back at her, hesitantly. “A visitor?”

“It’s your boyfriend, you dork.” Krista said with a roll of her eyes. “Just hurry up; if coach Rico sees you, you're dead.”

With a barely suppressed grin, Jean pushed up out of the floor and hurried to the doors, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to check for their coaches.

“Hey,” Marco smiled, hovering just outside the door. Jean stepped most of the way through it, his hand propping it open.

“Hi, you.” He dropped his free hand to tangle with Marco’s grinning back at him. Marco shifted from one foot to the other, kinetic.

“Sorry to intrude, I know you're busy.”

Jean grinned wider. “Not too busy for you.”

“I just wanted to say good luck.” Marco smiled. “In person. And I’ll be waiting for you after you finish.”

Jean leaned forward, bumping his nose gently against Marco’s. “Just promise me you'll be watching me while I'm out there.”

Marco nodded and squeezed his fingers. “Always.”

With another glimpse to either side to be sure his coaches weren't close enough to see, Jean closed the space between them and kissed Marco, lingering as long as he dared. He could feel Marco smiling against his lips, and soon Jean was smiling too, leaning up on his toes to press his forehead to Marco’s as they laughed.

“Smile!” Krista shouted, catching both of them off guard just enough to rattle them out of the little world of their own they’d ventured off to. Jean gave her a half frown until she turned her phone around, the picture on its screen one of he and Marco, laughing and looking like nothing else mattered. He couldn't help grinning.

“You’d better put _that_ one on Facebook!”

The last photo in Krista's photo album labeled ‘Cheerleading – Senior Year’ was that same image. Jean was happy to be tagged in it, to see his name next to Marco’s whenever he hovered his cursor over the picture. He was happy, just to be next to Marco, every day.

\--

Sunday afternoons together were perfect. There was no other word for them.

Stretched out across the couch in Jean’s living room, the television ignored as it flickered in the background, they lay in a heap, all limbs and loosely clinging clothes as they basked in the sunshine spilling through the open window blinds, and in the bliss that always settled over them after making love. The end of their senior year was in sight, and there was _so much_ going on at school and on week nights. Weekends were sacred. Weekends were their time.

Marco’s hand toyed with the untied belt of Jean’s pants, while the other arm held Jean in place against him. Jean had one arm draped across his closed eyes as he lay back against his boyfriend’s chest, and threaded the fingers of his other hand through Marco’s as he gave Jean a sleepy, one-armed hug. It was absolutely _flawless._ It was the kind of thing that made Jean immensely glad for parents that gave less than a shit about what he did in his spare time, or what he did in their living room while they weren't home. It was slow and indulgent and everything their time together usually couldn't be, and full of the chest-deep warmth of real happiness, from having exactly what he wanted.

The only thing that even vaguely distracted him from their blissful cuddle pile was the buzz of his phone, vibrating in the pocket of his shorts. He raised it above his face, checking the screen with one eye from behind his arm.

“Krista wants to know if I wanna go with a bunch of them to get Waffle House tonight.”

“That sounds fun,” Marco hummed, fingers swirling absently through coarse curls just below Jean’s waistband. “You should go.”

Jean craned his head backward, catching Marco’s lips for another slow, lingering kiss. “You wanna come with me?”

“Can’t,” Marco sighed. “I've got family stuff.” He tightened his arm around Jean’s chest, reminding him that they couldn't just lie there all evening. Jean frowned.

“Don't know if I wanna go, then.”

“I think you should. If you want to.” Marco pressed a kiss to the side of his face. “We've gotta be able to have fun without each other once in a while.” He dipped his hand farther into Jean’s shorts, biting back a laugh at the way it had him absently canting his hips. “Makes the fun we have together even better.”

Jean rolled over in his arms, throwing a leg over Marco’s hips. He sat up, straddling him. “You busy tonight, though? After your family stuff?” He ground his half-hard cock down against Marco’s, grinning at the shivering moan it coaxed out of him. Marco inhaled shakily, thinking.

“Don't think so. Shouldn't take more than a few hours.” He rolled his hips up against Jean’s, slow and deliberate. “Why?”

“Why don’t you come spend the night?” Jean offered. He tickled and pinched at the small patch of skin visible where Marco’s shirt rode up. “I'll bring you back some hash browns. Ham, onions, the whole deal.”

“You have to be up early tomorrow, don't you?” Marco twisted his mouth, trying to stifle the grin threatening to burst across his face. He tried to be practical. Jean made it hard. “I don't wanna keep you from sleeping. Shouldn't you turn in early?”

“And miss a chance to sleep with you, rather than your clothes?” Jean snickered. He didn't need to tell him that it could literally never bother him to lose sleep because of Marco. That he didn't mind, because he so often dreamed of a life that let him sleep next to Marco every night, no matter what the next day would bring. He would tell him all of that, one day. Maybe. But for the time, he let himself look down at his boyfriend as adoringly as he pleased, and smiled.

_“Never.”_


End file.
